


what a good boy

by sevenminutes



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenminutes/pseuds/sevenminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Be with me tonight. I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight. We've got these chains hanging around our necks, people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath. Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same.</i> </p><p>A long distance friendship isn't easy to maintain, particularly when both parties are painfully in love with each other and one is fighting against admitting it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what a good boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [androgenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/gifts).



> I wrote this for my dearest long distance friend (completely platonic!) when she begged me to wade into the foreign waters of RPF fic. I think I was mostly successful. :3
> 
> The title was taken from the Barenaked Ladies song of the same name, and it is simply the perfect song to encompass what this fic explores. _Please_ , look at the lyrics [here](http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/2356/) or listen to the song [here](https://youtu.be/aNOEWU5GRIA).

You see them from across the room and immediately know that their connection is something special, something unique. Their hands are loosely entwined, fingers tangled together. His other hand rests on the base of her neck, ever so slightly stroking the soft brown waves cascading down her back. It’s casual yet intimate, and you start to feel bad for staring, even though you’re not the only one.

People are always looking at them. They are famous, after all. But that’s not why you keep watching.

You want that, what they have. It’s nothing short of magical. The way he curls his arm around her and keeps it there. The way she leans into him, seeking warmth and ultimately finding it when she sees his smile for her. The way the both can tell what the other is thinking with a single look.

It’s sweet, beautiful, pure, and you find yourself repeating _they’re just friends_ as you finally turn away.

 

&.

 

He calls every Friday night. Other nights, too usually, but every single Friday like clockwork. She knows not to ever be in the shower or tied up with dinner between eight and nine, because that’s when he calls.

This Friday night it’s edging on eleven with the worst thunderstorm Los Angeles has seen in years raging outside her window, and she still hasn’t heard from him. Eight came and went, right along with nine, and at ten she sent him a text asking how his night was going. If he was out with friends, she would understand.

Their calls should never feel like an obligation.

She goes through her whole night waiting for the phone to ring, hoping she would hear “My Own Best Friend” suddenly fill her apartment, but it doesn’t happen.

She knows Jon well enough to know that something’s… off. He hasn’t missed a Friday night phone date in… ever. She calls him, thinking maybe she just forgot that it was her turn (she didn’t) or that maybe he’s been so busy with the show that he forgot today was Friday (he wouldn’t).

Then, at midnight, as she’s staring forlornly at the call history, a picture of her giving Jon a silly, big, sloppy kiss on the cheek with his face mid-laugh pops up on her screen, the appropriate _Chicago_ song accompanying it.

She picks up in what feels like a heartbeat and a half.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounds genuinely distressed and she hates that. Rushing to _fix it_ , whatever is wrong on his end, she says, “No, no. It’s fine, really.”

“No it’s not,” he sighs, sounding every bit as exhausted as he should at past-three a.m. by New York’s time.

“… What happened?” She _shouldn’t_ feel weird asking, she knows that; but she does. He’s been talking about a new guy lately, and she knows it has something to do with that. Ever since his visit last month it’s been painstakingly difficult to separate her best friend duties from… other things.

“It was nothing.”

He sounds reluctant to tell her, and she can’t figure out why. Something happened. He wouldn’t miss a phone call for _nothing_. He’s never hidden _anything_ from her before, not since they found that instant connection with each other.

The thought of things all of a sudden changing with him, of there being secrets and half-truths and vague stories instead of days recounted in sweet, excruciating detail… it’s enough to make her panic a little.

She sits up in bed and takes a deep breath, looking out her window at the storm. She lives in a nice part of L.A., and her apartment building is set back from the main road, limiting the amount of noise and light pollution that invades her bedroom. But in that moment, she misses home and the way that raindrops glow peachy-orange as they reflect the streetlights.

“Tell me what happened? You sound upset…” she replies patiently, her voice just above a whisper.

“I’m not upset.” It’s too quick, too insistent. Jon doesn’t _get_ upset.

“It’s okay if you are,” she murmurs, wishing she could hug him, brush that one curl at his forehead back, _something_ to comfort him.

But she’s a continent-length away instead of just a cab ride.

“I miss you so much.”

Of all the times that she’s hated being so far away, the moment he said that, with the way his voice cracked at the end, was the worst.

She sighs as she curls an arm around her own waist, her hand settling high on her left side, just over the tattoo on her ribcage. All she feels is the soft cotton of her nightgown, but she knows the ink is there; an intertwined cursive ‘J’ and ‘L’ right next to her heart.

“I miss you, too.” She misses him _too much_. The times when they see each other — which are getting fewer and farther in between — she breathes his scent, the clean smell of simply soap and him, like she hasn’t taken a single breath since the last time she saw him, long and deep. “ _Please_ , tell me what happened so I can help.”

 

&.

 

There’s no way she’s going to let him out of this conversation without him telling her what happened. Lea has this way of pulling you into that sort of thing, of getting you to spill your guts at her feet. Contrary to her signature character, Lea’s style of conversation is less brash and abrasive, but rather more patient and almost seductive.

It’s impossible for him to keep anything from her when he imagines those big eyes of hers staring intently at him, waiting for him to confess his deepest, darkest secrets so that she can love him anyway.

“I had a date tonight.”

He suddenly feels like he just chewed and swallowed a dime’s worth of pennies.

Tonight was big, and he can’t shake the fear gripping his throat as he thinks about telling her what conclusions he came to. It wouldn’t be dramatic of him to call them life-altering and he’s not even sure he’ll be able to summon the courage in this conversation.

“Oh.” He knows her well enough to pick out the disappointment that she tries to cover up with mild surprise.

“It didn’t go very well.”

“ _Oh_. Why not? What was wrong with him?” The date couldn’t have been a bad one because of him; typical Lea, with too much faith in him as usual.

“Nothing. He was great. Nice, polite, cute. The conversation never got dull.” His chest aches as he remembers the shy smile his date shot him at his doorstep earlier, just before he leaned to kiss Jon. “There was just something missing,” he finishes cryptically.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes into the phone, a harsh sigh leaving his lips with the words. “What about you? What did you do tonight?”

He’s hoping she’ll have a story about locking eyes with some handsome young yoga instructor as they both reached for the last container of soymilk, or something equally disgustingly cute and noteworthy. He wants to hear the kind of story every girl wants to tell their grandchildren one day.

Instead, she says, “Nothing. I made stir-fry and watched _Broadway: The Golden Age_.”

He settles back into the corner of his couch, tucking one leg beneath the other, telling himself that this is just like any other conversation with her. He ignores the way every single muscle in his body aches to be with her, the way his chest tightens at the thought that her night of “nothing” sounds better than anything else right now.

“Really? How was it?”

“Angela Lansbury is just… incomparable,” she sighs wistfully.

“She is one of a kind,” he agrees quietly, wishing the clenching feeling of longing in his gut would quiet long enough for him to get through this conversation.

“I miss being home,” she says suddenly, sounding ominously quiet.

Resisting the urge to say _I miss having you here_ , he instead asks, “What brought that on tonight?”

“It’s raining.”

Then, he knows why she sounds so sullen. It’s not just that he didn’t call like he should have, though he’s sure that’s part of it.

She loves the marriage of rain and the city.

She came to him once, knocking on his door at eleven o’clock at night, her green sundress practically soaked through and a beaming grin on her face. Her hair was shorter then, and the damp locks curled around her face, framing her eyes that were impossibly bright with excitement.

“It’s raining!”

Even he had to admit, she looked beautiful. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t the last time he found himself thinking _“If I were straight—”_ and cutting off the notion before it developed into something dangerous.

“I see that.” Cue the amused smile that always seemed to come out when she did something adorable or crazy; something _Lea_.

“Come with me!”

And just like that he was whisked out of his apartment to a waiting cab that she paid to drive them around the city for almost an hour. She wanted to see raindrops on windows and listen to it pound against the roof, something she couldn’t hear in her apartment.

It took ten minutes for her to start shivering which was when his jacket and arm both went around her shoulders; another five minutes until she leant her head on his shoulder, soaking in the sights and sounds outside as they quietly whispered about nothing in particular.

At his apartment at the end of the ride, after Jon had dropped her off and hugged her goodnight with a quick peck on the lips, the cab driver turned to him and mentioned what a sweet couple they made, how they reminded him so much of how he and his wife once were.

Jon mumbled a quick _thanks_ before tipping him generously and slowly making his way back inside, not really knowing what that feeling in his chest was.

Now, he knows he’s in love with her. He just wishes that there was a time he could point to and say, _“It happened then. That was the moment.”_ But he can’t. He truly has no idea when it happened.

Maybe he’s just always loved her and been too stubborn to admit it? Maybe that’s why none of his relationships, no matter how serious, have lasted?

“You love the rain,” he reminds her, hoping to cheer her up.

“But not here. It’s too quiet, too dark.” She doesn’t say anything else, but he gets it. He always understands exactly what she means.

“That’s so weird. It’s actually raining here, too.” Earlier, he just thought it fit his mood and the extreme angst he was feeling. It felt poetic in a way, that he was so lost and he was surrounded by a physical storm at the same time.

“Really?” He regrets telling her once he hears the longing in her voice.

His throat is starting to feel tight and he clears it uncomfortably, staring at his bare feet on his coffee table instead of out his window at the rain she covets so.

“Yeah. Hey, don’t you have an early call tomorrow?” he says, hoping to get her off the phone so that he could focus on being less in love with her.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she replies immediately, sounding confused about why he’s trying to get off the phone with her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just know you probably need to get ready for bed, and we can just talk tomorrow.” It all comes out in a rush and he rolls his eyes, feeling very much like a fifteen year old talking to a crush on the phone for the first time.

His feelings for her _can’t_ take this away from them. He can’t ruin things; he needs her in his life too damn much.

“I’m already dressed for bed, but I don’t mind. I want to talk to you now.” She has that insistently caring tone that she gets sometimes, and he knows he can’t get out of this.

He sighs against the phone, probably making a horrible sound on her end, before he just sits silently for a few moments, thinking of what to say to her or if he should say anything at all.

“Jon? You’re starting to worry me, sweetie…”

He wants to tell her not to worry, that he’ll be fine. But he can’t because he has no fucking clue what he’s doing. Normally, this is where she, as the best friend, flies in and fixes the problem for him. She gives him a glass of wine and talks him through his problem.

But, now, she _is_ the problem, and it’s never been like that before. He’s never, not for as long as they’ve known each other, had to censor what he says to her. “I’m— I’ll be all right.”

 

&.

 

“You don’t sound all right,” she accuses, sitting up in the middle of the bed, the sheet pooling atop her thighs. In fact, he sounds about as far from all right as a person can get. He sounds lost.

She tips her head back, staring at her ceiling for the magic answers, some kind of quick fix, anything to get them back to where they were before. They’ve both had their fair share of meltdowns and issues over the years, but it’s never been this hard to get him to talk about it.

“I’m just— I don’t know!” There’s a long pause and she imagines him squeezing his eyes shut and trying to count to ten, his fingers tangled in his hair, trying to wait out the frustration. “… I’m thinking too much about things.”

“That’s what it sounds like to me. Get some sleep and you’ll feel better about things in the morning,” she promises blindly, entering mother-hen mode even from three thousand miles away.

“Okay. Hey— can I ask you something?”

He sounds almost afraid and she can’t help the way her heart clenches in her chest.

“Yeah,” she assures him softly. “Anything.”

“Would you love me no matter what?”

“Absolutely,” she vows, completely without hesitation. Met with grateful silence from him, she presses again, “What _happened_ tonight?”

He’s officially starting to scare her and she’s thinking about grabbing the red eye back, work and meetings be damned for the next week or however long it takes to fix this.

“I think… I might not be who I thought I was, and I’m worried what people will think.” He mumbles it so softly that she almost doesn’t catch all the words. But then she connects them and it all starts to make sense.

“You’re not thinking of leaving acting, are you?” she whispers intensely, positive that’s it and he’s going to tell her that he’s moving to Montana to write the great American novel. She’ll support him no matter what, just like she promised, but she still can’t _believe—_

Her uncontrollable runaway train of thought is quickly cut off by his snort of laughter.

“No, that’s… not it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s certainly a relief. You’re too good to quit. I also think you’re too good to be in that _thing_ you’re doing, but I understand why you decided—”

“I’m in love with you.” In half a second she manages to convince herself that she made it up. There’s no way that he could possibly mean what she thinks — hopes — he means.

“That’s… not funny.”

Sure they have a deal to get married if they’re both still single at forty, but that was made for purposes of procreation and to stave off loneliness. This is… so different.

“It’s not a joke.”

A rush of air leaves her body ending with a slight whimper as she falls back down against her pillows.

This feels like a test, if he’s insisting it’s not a joke. So what if she’s been in love with him from day one and dreamt of nothing but this moment? He’s her _gay_ best friend.

She’s pretty sure there’s some unspoken Broadway law forbidding her from even thinking about this. “… no. You _love me_ and I love you, but… you’re not _in love with me_.”

“If I’m not in love with you, how come I can’t stop thinking about you? How come I went out with a perfectly nice guy, completely my type, and felt _nothing_? How come the only times I’m really, truly happy these days are when I’m with you? How come I miss you every second that you’re not around?”

She lies back, listening to his list of justifications thinking that this could not possibly be happening to her. Running a hand over her makeup-free face, she wonders what the fuck is wrong with her.

She’s wanted this for so long, and now that it’s happening, her first urge is to talk him out of it?

“Jonathan, it’s late. You’re tired. Just… _think_ about what you’re saying.”

“I have thought about it. That’s all I’ve been doing tonight is _thinking about it_ and missing you. I just thought you should know. It’s something I have to work through, but—”

“It’s not going to go away,” she cuts in softly, biting her lip as she listens to the rain tip-tap against her window in his stunned silence. “I’ve been trying to make it go away for the last five years.”

She hears him take a breath, ragged and tired, the air leaving him in a resigned sigh. That one breath tells her exactly what he’s thinking.

That’s what happens when you share that intimate of a connection with another person. A breath, a glance, a single word, or the choice to not say anything at all; anything and everything can tell you exactly what they’re thinking.

“Wha— What happens next? People—”

She wants to say ‘ _Fuck people_.’ She honestly couldn’t care less about people and what they’ll think… But he _does_ , she knows he does.

She can’t ask him to, in a very real way, abandon an identity that he’s become known for. There’s a part of him that he has stood up for and defended against hate, that people have admired him for, that has given hope to people struggling with their own identity.

To be with Lea publicly as more than just her best friend, to kiss her and hold her in front of the cameras that follow her nonstop, is a risk. And, confessions aside, she’s not sure it’s one he’s willing to take. She knows him better than anyone, and he wouldn’t have spent the whole night freaking out if this was an easy decision.

“I know. It’s… complicated.” She almost loses steam after the first word, dread and hope mixing together in the pit of her stomach.

It’s not fair to her. She finally finds someone she can share her very soul with, and he’s gay. That wasn’t fair. Then, he finally tells her he’s in love with her, and he’s not sure he can follow through on it.

She deserves more than that, but the only problem is that all she’s wanted for as long as she can remember is him.

“You should do what you think is right,” she decides to say, dreading his response.

 

&.

“What if I don’t know what’s right?” he asks, wishing she could help him through this. Asking her would be cruel, but she would do it for him, even if it — _he_ — killed her.

“Figure it out. What feels right for you? No one else, just _you_.” She takes a deep, steadying breath, and he’s reminded of how hard this is for her, that he _started this_. “What do you want, Jonathan?”

That’s the only question that should matter to him, right? Except…

Being who he is and being a rather high profile member of the gay community… he’d feel like he’s betraying people that he doesn’t even know by choosing to be with her.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers, his left hand tangling in his hair. “But—”

“No,” she immediately cuts him off. “There shouldn’t be a ‘but’ on the end of that. Love shouldn’t be conditional!”

“How can I just… do that? How do I go in public, face _everyone_ —”

“You do it because you love me,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I go with you. We face them _together_!”

It’s a nice image, and on some level not-so-deep down, he’s always known he’d spend the rest of his life with Lea. She sniffles into the phone and he feels like _shit_. He started this conversation, not knowing what he’d do if she said it back and now he was hesitating, breaking her heart for no reason.

“Baby, please don’t cry. _Please._ ”

She’ll never hang up on him, but he can tell that she’s damn close. He pictures her pulling on the blanket at her waist, heartbreak written across her face.

“You mean too much to me. I don’t— I’m not sure how to handle this. All I know is that I can’t lose you.”

She takes big, gulping breaths of air in between each statement, and he hears hopelessness creeping into her voice.

“You’ll never lose me,” he swears, feeling his throat start to tighten. “Even if— You’ll never lose me.”

There’s silence on her end of the line and he starts to worry that they got disconnected, that she hung up on him. Then, her voice cuts through the tense silence and breaks his heart.

“Will I ever have you?” She barely whispers it, and he’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear her by the way she clears her throat and says, “Yeah, I know. I’m just being— I just wish I could _see_ you.”

“Oh, baby. Me, too.”

They hang up without resolving anything, too many questions and uncertainties still hanging over their relationship, creating shadows of doubt everywhere. There’s one thing that’s for sure, though, and that is that he will always love her. Every breath, every heartbeat, every second of the rest of his life, he will never stop.

She insists on letting him go, over his objections, citing the time and the fact that she knows he works the next day, two shows at that.

“Daddy needs his rest to be at his best,” she chuckles, but it comes out hollow and too filled with longing. It’s painful for him to hear her goodbyes, and he’s terrified that he’s already fucked this up with her.

That thought has him staring long and hard at his phone.

His mind wouldn’t fill that in for their _friendship_. Their friendship is old, tried and true, tested by fire and proven to be devoted. It wasn’t _already_ anything.

But there is something new between them, and he won’t rest until he sees his hopes through and knows for sure what he’s fighting for with her.

Is he fighting to keep their friendship whole? Or is he fighting for a future, for a true love? He won’t be able to sleep until he knows for sure, which is how he ends up at JFK buying a very expensive ticket to L.A. and boarding the flight with nothing but the clothes on his back.

 

&.

 

Six hours later, Jon steps off the plane in L.A. only three hours after he left New York. Too tired from lack of sleep and too sick from the turbulence that caused their delays, he doesn’t think too much about the time difference, avoiding that headache altogether.

He gets a cab, way too tired to rent a car for himself, and as the address leaves his lips, his nerves start to get out of control.

He’s been on autopilot up until now, but all of a sudden he has a limited amount of time to come up with something to say to her.

The driver should be to her house in less than forty minutes, and that’s nowhere near long enough for Jon to plan out the next twenty years of his life. Fuck if he knows what happens five minutes after she lets him in, even.

This whole trip has been all about _seeing her_ and _being sure_. Because it’s for damn certain that if he’s as in love with her as he thinks he might be (he is) and she wants to be with him (he hopes) they’re going to have to take one hell of a leap.

He pulls up far sooner than he’d been expecting and gives the driver a generous tip, enough to cover the extra ten minutes that they spend idling on her curb. He sees the curtain on her living room window flutter a couple of times and he can’t help the small smile emerges from her being so curious.

It’s the image of her cutting up cantaloupe for breakfast, drumming her fingertips impatiently on the counter as she waits for her coffee to finish, that reminds him that _she_ , everything about her, is why he’s here. He finally pushes the door open and climbs out as quickly as someone so sleep deprived can.

She doesn’t know that he’s coming, and he knows she probably won’t expect for him to just show up on her doorstep, no matter what they spent the night talking about.

So when he knocks and she whips the door open to quickly pull him inside, he’s the one that’s surprised.

“How… did you know it was me?” he asks, thoroughly confused, clutching her hand tightly in his.

“I looked down and saw you trying to enter through the wrong gate,” she smiles, brushing some hair away from his eyes in that way that only she (and his mother) can. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement, but edged with worry, her forehead crinkled just slightly.

“Of course,” he sighed, laughing at himself for a moment until he realized that she was looking at him with the most predictable question on her mind.

“Jon—”

“I needed to see you,” he tells her in a nervous rush. “Last night was… that was wrong. You didn’t deserve to have that dumped on you like that, and the last thing I want you to think is that I don’t care. Because I do care. Lea, baby, I care so much.”

His hand fits perfectly into the curve of her neck, his thumb tracing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she says softly, taking the hand in hers and kissing his palm. “I never doubted that.”

 

&.

 

He looks so relieved that she has to wonder what she said to him last night that made him panic and race here, so legitimately worried that she would _stop loving him_. The notion alone is so ridiculous that she has to bite her lip to stop the amused smile that was threatening to come out and spread across her face.

She’s loved him for as long as she can remember, even if it had only been less than a decade from their first meeting. She can barely remember her life before him, the years that she lived her life without him in it. She knows they were lonely, though, that she had walked around for too long with half of her heart missing.

She refuses to go back to that, and she will never let him go.

“I love you and… it’ll all work out just fine,” she says, ever the optimist, shoving her feelings aside to look after him and love him the way he wants her to.

“What?” His hand turns in her grip and he links their fingers together, his eyes narrowed at her in that slightly confused, extremely adorable look he wears from time to time.

He tries to tug her closer, but she stands her ground, only letting him succeed in extending her arm.

“You’ll find someone really great,” she continues, trying to ignore the aching in her chest at the thought of being a _Best Maid_ to him and nothing else. Thinking of framing a picture of Jon and some faceless man, both in tuxes, the man’s hand in Jon’s hair as they share a kiss under the lush green foliage of Central Park in full bloom brings tears to her eyes.

Blinking quickly, she pulls her hand away to cross her arms over her chest.

“You’ll be happy, and you’ll be the person you want to be and I’ll—” Be happy, too?  _No_. Move on? _Impossible._ Miss you, need you always, never forget the night you told me you were in love with me, watch from the sidelines… _that’s more like it_. “I’ll be fine.”

If anything, he looks more confused then, and he takes a step forward as she takes a step back in the direction of her bedroom.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“If you came all the way across the country to make sure I was okay with your decision, you wasted a trip, Jon.” She can only hope that the almost twenty years she’s been acting are coming through, and that she sounds convincing enough to fool the one person that knows her best. She immediately repeats, “ _I’ll be fine_ ,” while thinking _if only wishing could make it so_.

But then she realizes that she’d rather stay in love with him for the rest of her life, that she wants to hold onto the magic and the sparks that she feels when he holds her, even if she has to watch him love another.

“That’s not why I flew out here,” he says, sounding entirely too sincere for her to stay convinced that she’s delusional for hoping. “I needed to see you, to—”

He breaks off, and she can see him swallowing hard, the muscles of his throat working beneath the pale skin as he tries to breathe through whatever his reason for a red-eye flight was.

“What was—?”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish her question, the words lost on her lips as he covers them with his own, kissing her hard. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, full of energy that’s been stored up for _years_ , not just days or hours as he might want to believe. He’s wanted this for far too long, she knows him well enough for that to be clear to her.

She’s kissed him before, far too many times to count. They’ve kissed so much that she thought their kisses must outnumber stars in the sky. It was a nice thought, but then she remembered that it was never him and her, always _them_ instead, and she tried to forget the way his lips felt against hers.

This time, it’s him. She feels it in the way the kiss changes as he settles into her, gets a feel for the two of them alone; no Melchior, Rachel, or _anyone_ to distract him. The breathless _fuck_ that he mumbles against her lips, his hand reaching up to pull her hair out of its ponytail, the way his other hand curls around her waist to bring her closer… their first kiss is perfect.

When he pulls away, they’re both breathing heavily and her wide eyes are demanding an answer of him.

“I had to do that,” he says, his hand still warm on her waist. He forces out a harsh, deep breath and she feels her now-loose hair blow over her shoulder, tickling her collarbone. He closes his eyes, saying, “I had to know.”

“Know what?” she asks, holding her breath as she hopes he found the right answer.

“If I could live my life without kissing you like that every single day.”

It’s so beautiful that she wants to cry. The fact that he just _says_ things like that, perfect and amazing things, things so sweetly _Jon_ , has always been something that she’s loved. She’s also always been jealous of all the men that have gotten to hear those sorts of things from him.

“And?” She’s still holding her breath, so terrified that she’ll wake up from this beautiful dream.

“I can’t,” he concludes, a choked laugh that sounds half-relieved leaving him. “I need you, Lea. I need all of you.”

It’s everything she’s ever wanted to hear from him. For as long as she’s known him, she’s dreamt of this moment; of what she’d say, how she’d smile at him _just so_ , a single, perfect tear running down her right cheek.

Instead, the moment comes and all she can do is let out the breath she was holding and let him take her into his arms. She’s not crying, but she presses her face into his shirt anyway, just being close to him for a moment as the fact of what’s happening sinks in.

“I don’t understand what happened,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “Last night, it seemed like…”

Like she was going to have to sweep this away like she has every other questionable moment in their entire relationship, and pretend she hadn’t heard him confess his love for her.

 

&.

 

He knows what she’s asking, and he can’t blame her for being confused.

“I stayed up until dawn thinking about you and our conversation, the date that should have gone great but didn’t,” he says in a rush, holding her tighter against his chest. “I knew I had to come see you, because there was no way I’d be able to move on until I… tried.”

Seeing her always makes everything better, and this is something that he couldn’t decide without being face to face with her.

From all of that, the only thing she seems to catch is, “You haven’t slept?” She looks up at him with big, round eyes, the edges creased with worry and lays a hand on his cheek.

She’s always worrying about him, and it’s comforting that some things never change, no matter how many life-changing conversations they have in the middle of the night.

“Nope,” he chuckles softly. “Couldn’t.”

“Well, you should sleep,” she says firmly, pulling away to tug him by the shirtsleeve into her bedroom. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Lea,” he whispers, stopping her at the edge of the bed with a small smile at his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Sleep,” she says firmly, pushing him down onto the mattress before bending to untie his sneakers. “You can’t possibly be thinking straight if you’ve been awake this long.”

With the way she says it, it’s clear that she’s worried that this will turn into something that he sheepishly apologizes for, something she’ll have to live with knowing she was so close to having.

“I’m not going to change my mind after a nap, you know,” he tells her, watching her carefully set his shoes aside. “This isn’t that. I’m tired, but I know what I’m saying and what I want.”

Slowly, she stands from where she was bent over next to the armoire and turns to look at him, shaking her head.

“I didn’t think—”

“Yes, you did.”

That accusation, the way he says it with a smile clearly playing at his lips, has her crossing the room with her hands firmly on her hips.

“Oh, did I?” she asks haughtily, standing in front of him with one hip jutted out to the side and one eyebrow raised just slightly.

“Yeah,” he responds, grabbing the hip in front of him and pulling her onto his lap. He smiles when she straddles him easily, her arms coming up to circle his neck without so much as a blink.

He has reasons, of course, reasons why it will only ever be _her_ for him. There’s the way that she always says the right thing at the right time, and the way she never lets them walk anywhere together without taking his hand and holding on tightly, like he’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth. Then, there’s _this_ ; when she curls her body into his and clings to him, always wanting more.

He’s just about to capture her lips in a kiss, another one that’s just them, when she tips her head back, just out of reach, slowly shaking it.

“You still need to sleep,” she whispers firmly, taking his face in her hands to kiss his forehead gently.

“Stay with me?” he asks hopefully as she moves off his lap and he reaches down to undo his belt buckle.

Even though he knows she isn’t even remotely tired, she nods and strips down to a tank top before climbing back into the bed with him and curling herself around him.

He smells lemon and honey, a combination of her body wash and conditioner, and with his arm around her waist and his face tucked into the curve of her neck, he settles in to sleep with the woman he loves.

 

&.

 

Jon wakes up to the sun setting outside her bedroom window, too-orange light filtering in through her curtains to land right in his eyes, and Sheila staring at him from Lea’s vacant spot in the bed.

Sitting up with a jolt, he lets out a small noise of surprise that’s loud enough to draw Lea to the doorway.

“Everything okay?” she asks, only mildly concerned as she comes over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

He laughs, shaking his head as he sees the cat scampering off to flee to the other room, before turning to Lea to pull her all the way into the bed, keeping her close against his chest. This is how it’s supposed to be, waking up with Lea or to Sheila staring at him. Wherever Lea is always feels like home.

“I’m fine. Great. Perfect,” he replies immediately with a bright, rested grin, rolling so that she’s balanced on top of him.

“I’m glad you seem to be feeling better, more rested.” Beaming, Lea shifts so that she’s straddling his thighs, her hands reaching down to lace with his.

“I always sleep best in your bed,” he tells her softly, tracing the curves of her body with his eyes. “It feels… safe.”

“Do other beds feel dangerous?” she wonders aloud, frowning down at him.

Sighing, Jon shrugs before just pulling her down to lay flat against his bare chest, as if that’s an answer. He needs her in his life and, true to his word, the realization that he needs her as more than just a friend hasn’t changed with sleep.

“Are you staying?” she asks quietly, her ear resting over his heartbeat, just listening.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll have with her, so he doesn’t bother replying with words. They’ve never really needed them anyway. Over years of being best friends and soulmates they’ve developed a language that only they understand, having entire conversations with covert looks and secret touches.

It feels blissfully natural to add kisses to that language.

Bending his head, he kisses her temple, his lips lingering for a long moment. When she raises her face to look at him, a puzzled expression coloring her features, he immediately captures her lips in a deep kiss.

She’s surprised, judging by the gasp that leaves her lips just as his tongue slips inside her mouth, but she melts into the kiss, one of her palms resting over his heart as the other fists slightly in the pillow to the right of his head. Moaning slightly, she shifts her body on top of his, sliding up so that their hips are pressed close together.

This is the part of her that he’s always secretly wondered about, but never known. This, sex and making love, is something he’s never allowed himself to seriously consider with her. It was never a conscious thought, but more of an instinctive avoidance of the subject. She was his best friend and he was gay, and what gay best friend thinks about their female companion like that?

But this is good. Kissing her, his lips moving over her jaw to finally reach the sweet spot just behind her ear, feels so good and so right that he finds himself wishing he’d thought about this earlier.

“You got dressed again,” he accuses with a smile as he reaches for her tank top, slowly dragging it off over her head.

“I had to,” Lea laughs, wiggling a little as he finally gets the shirt over her hair. “You were dead to the world but I had a full day’s worth of things to do.”

“You left me.” He makes it sound comical, pretending to be wounded, but he regrets it when she frowns a little.

“I stayed with you for a couple of hours,” she tells him softly, her fingers reaching out to correct the one stray curl in the middle of his forehead. “But you know me.”

“Can’t stay still for too long,” he finishes proudly before cupping her cheek and pulling her closer to press their foreheads together. “I love that about you, you know? Your energy is almost infectious.”

Grinning, she kisses him this time, and he can’t help but notice how she seems so much more sure about this than she was when he showed up. It was almost as if she’s surrendered to her feelings for him, and he whispers an ‘I love you’ against her lips as his hand slides up her side to cover her left breast, feeling a heart that he knows beats only for him.

“I love you, too,” she whispers back, nodding as she kisses his neck.

She hadn’t said that up until then and he stops to look at her, knowing that this ‘I love you’ exchange is distinctly different from the other million times that they’ve said it. This time it means _I’m in love with you_ and _I choose you_ and _I need you in my life_.

It’s perfect, and it feels completely natural. It may be different from the other times, but it’s still _them_.

Lea smiles down at him, pressing his hand more firmly against her breast as she arches into the touch and grinds her hips against his, a soft noise of contentment leaving her.

“How does that feel?” she asks, licking her lips as her eyes flutter closed.

“Amazing. You know I’ve always been a fan of your breasts,” he laughs. As if to prove this, his other hand joins the effort, moving to fondle and tease her right breast.

“Mmm.” She moans, her eyes still closed, as he lightly pinches her nipples. “God, Jon.”

They’ve only just started and this is already going better than he expected it to.

He rolls them over before reaching for the waistband of her yoga pants with a quick glance up at her face to make sure it’s okay. He knows it will be, knows all he’ll see in her eyes is anticipation and wanting that she’s denied herself for the entire length of their friendship. But he loves her so much, and he’s Jon, so he still checks before pulling the pants and her underwear down over her hips.

Lea can’t resist touching and kissing him as he hovers over her, her hands far too full of excitement to stay still. Jon bends down to kiss and suck on her collarbone and her hand on his bicep tightens; short, manicured fingernails digging into his arm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers hotly against her skin, moving to kiss the swell of each of her breasts before the sweet valley between them.

Her eyes are closed, but her hand threads through his hair as a slow smile spreads across her face.

“You have no idea how good that feels— Oh god.” He knows she’s talking about his words, how good it feels for him to tell her she’s beautiful, but her voice is shaky with need and she cuts herself off with a moan as he takes one of her nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak and sucking hard.

There’s a part of him that can’t believe that he’s doing this. It all seems like a dream, being here, wrapped up in sheets that smell like Lea, making love to her as the setting sun casts an ethereal glow over every curve of her body.

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, because she’s everything he always wanted. He just didn’t realize she would come in a _she_ package.

Her legs tighten around his waist and her tiny hands gently push at his shoulders, causing him to look up in confusion, stroking her cheek. “What is it, baby?”

She shakes her head, and he can see that she’s tearing up. “I just need to… see you. To know that this is really happening.”

Jon’s heart clenches painfully in his chest and he slides up her body, his hand trailing lower to grip her hip, keeping himself pressed against her.

“This is really happening. I love you. I’m not ever going to— This is _happening_ , and it’s just the beginning,” he vows, leaning in to kiss her again as if to solidify his commitment. He knows they’ve gone far too long without this kind of physical reassurance and he thinks he might need it just as much as she does.

He nips at her lower lip, his tongue slowly moving deeper and deeper into her mouth as he kisses her.

She’s breathless when she breaks the kiss, her eyes wide as she meets his gaze. “Are you okay? I mean— do you need—?”

“What?” He’s genuinely confused about what he could possibly need in this moment aside from her, and then he gets it. What she’s saying clicks and he has to resist laughing.

Rather than telling her all of that, he kisses her on the lips again before rising up onto his knees in front of her, between her bent legs. She’s pouting up at him, her hands trying to reach out and follow him, but then she stops and watches once she sees what he’s doing, biting her lip. He hooks his hands into the side of his very noticeably tented boxers and slides them down over his hips and lets his erection spring free.

Lea stares at him for a moment, slowly dragging her teeth across her lower lip. She starts breathing a little heavier as she sits up, her eyes flicking away from his dick to look at his.

“Jon, I— Please? Can I… ?” Her soft, small hands land on his hips and he swallows hard as his hand moves to her hair, watching the way the dark waves flow over her shoulders as she gazes up at him.

He wants to be strong enough to tell her _no_ , to make this all about her. But it’s about both of them, and he knows what she’s asking him for. She’s asking for permission to explore him and he can’t deny her that, would never even dream of it. So, he brushes her bangs back from her forehead and nods.

Licking her lips, Lea trains her eyes on his cock, looking almost fascinated. She’s seen him naked before, of course, just like he’s seen her, but this is… different. Given permission, she stares and her hands slowly inch closer to him.

She wraps one hand around his cock, slowly stroking him and he shudders out a gasp in response. Her touch is soft and warm, loving, and undeniably feminine. He doesn’t expect it to be so comforting, but it is. Her thumb slides over the tip of his cock, gathering up a bead of precome with the pad of her finger, and he fights to stay still, even as more blood rushes to his groin. He watches her, his breath hitching every time she does something that feels particularly good.

“So big,” she murmurs in quiet awe. “I—” He sees her breathing speed up, her bare chest rising and falling faster and faster before she looks up into his eyes. “I need you. Jonathan… I _need_ you.”

He nods, pushing her hands away as he bends down to cradle her face in his hands and kiss her.

“I know, baby. Lea, I need you, too.” His lips move over her lips and down to her jaw before he presses them close to the shell of her ear. “Let me show you how much?”

She nods quickly, her tousled hair falling away from her face as her head hits the pillow with a soft whimper. “Please.”

He hasn’t been aware of his feelings for as long as she has, but somehow it feels like he’s been waiting for this just as long as she has, pressing little gentle kisses across her face as he leans into her on the bed.

He only pulls back for a second, to line himself up at her entrance, and his breath catches a little at the sight of her. Truly, every inch of her is gorgeous and perfect to him.

Sliding inside her feels better than he ever imagined it would, so hot, tight, and wet. She’s perfect. Moaning into her neck, he stays still for a moment, kissing her cheek and giving them both time to adjust.

“Okay?” he asks, just a little breathlessly.

She moans in response, nodding quickly. “Oh god—”

He takes that as his cue to move, starting to thrust into her slow and deep as her legs wrap tightly around his waist and her arms circle his neck.

Every time he looks down at her face, her eyes are wide open, watching him like if she closes them it really will have been all a dream. He kisses her lips as he speeds up his movements, his hand sliding up her leg and over her hip to let his fingers dig into her ass. Beneath him, she rolls her hips in response and moans sharply as he hits that one _particular_ spot inside her.

“Oh!” she cries out in a keening whine. “More, please! Daddy…”

Groaning as he tucks his face closer to her neck, Jon can’t help but thrust into her faster and harder, just as she begged him to. He lifts himself up some more on his elbow, to get some more leverage, and takes her thigh in a bruising grip as he surrenders himself completely. He can’t hold on much longer and he can only hope that she comes first.

Breathing hard into the curtain of hair over her shoulder, he feels her start to shake in his arms as her body pulses and clenches around his shaft.

“Jon!”

Oh. _God._

He has just enough time to think ‘ _so this is what I’ve been missing for so long_ ’ before he thrusts up into her hard and comes, spilling himself deep inside her with a soft groan.

Breathing hard, he drops his head to her shoulder, feeling the clenching of her body quiet to little flutters here and there.

“God, I love you,” he whispers, tracing her lip with his finger before leaning in to kiss the skin that she bit just a little too hard.

She smiles, threading her fingers through his hair, and takes a deep breath, almost like he fixed something within her just by loving her like that. Like she finally feels like the person she was meant to be all along.

“I love you more than anything.”

His heart is still beating hard and fast, but he gently kisses her before lifting himself off her. He reaches for a tissue and cleans her off a bit before settling in next to her. He sighs, leaning his head against her chest and slinging his arm across her waist.

He knows this is the best decision he’s ever made, unspeakably grateful for her.

 

&.

 

You see them every week in Central Park, Sundays at noon, like clockwork. Every once in a while they’re a little late, and those are the weeks that they always look a little happier than normal. Like maybe they’ve spent the morning tangled up in bed together, taking longer than usual to leave the warmth of each other’s arms.

Not that they don’t look happy every single time. They do, and you’re fairly certain you’ve never seen anything like it. _Pure love._

You don’t know them, but you recognize their faces, so they must be famous and that’s not exactly rare in this city, so you don’t really spend a lot of time dwelling on it. You have your own reasons for being in the park every week, and it would be a lie to say that they weren’t one of them.

For those few seconds that you see them, smiling and happy, walking their small dog or stopping underneath the shade of a tree to steal a kiss, you’re reminded that there is pure and genuine love and goodness in the world.

They’ve made it through god only knows what to get to wedding rings and weekly strolls together, so all hope _can’t_ be lost, not with the way they look at each other and see the whole world.

 

&.

_The end._


End file.
